


Rage Red Raw

by thelightofmorning



Series: Tales of the Late Fourth Era [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Politics, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Abandonment, Child Death, Class Issues, Corpse Desecration, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Graphic Description of Corpses, Half-orc, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Misogyny, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Conflict, Sex Work, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 16:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightofmorning/pseuds/thelightofmorning
Summary: Aurelia Northstar is the Grand Champion of the Arena. Half-Orc and despised by her relatives at Cloud Ruler Temple, it is to her the duty of saving the last Septim falls.Hell has broken before Martin Septim's eyes. An abandoned bastard thrust into the spotlight, it is to him the duty of saving the world from Oblivion falls.Together, there is little they cannot achieve, and their actions will determine those of others for centuries to come.





	1. Destiny's Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, war crimes, imprisonment, misogyny, alcohol/drug use, classism, criminal acts, religious conflict, corpse desecration, emotional trauma and mentions of genocide, rape/non-con, sex work, torture, child abuse, child abandonment, child neglect and child death. So, I’m having a crack at starting the story of Aurelia Northstar, the Madgoddess and the Hero of Kvatch. Dark AF, folks, dark AF with divergence from canon.

 

Aurelia Northstar was used to waking up in a puddle of her own filth with knuckles scraped raw, so this morning wasn’t particularly unusual. What _was_ different was the white ceremonial armour she wore and the clanking of steel coming closer to the barred door.

            “Oh, look at you,” sneered the raspy-voiced Dunmer in the cell across from hers. “Aren’t you the special one to get a private cell?”

            “Say that to me in the Arena, you ash-skinned-“ Aurelia invited with a big grin. But the flash of steel in the corner of her eye silenced her. What in the ever-loving fuck were Blades doing in the bowels of the Imperial Prison?

            “Why is this cell occupied?” demanded the Blades Knight-Captain of her two subordinates.

            “The usual mix-up with the city guards,” the Nibenese one protested.

            “No,” said a calm, dignified baritone edged with the resigned acceptance of a man facing the headsman’s block. “It is fated.”

            “Your Imperial Majesty-“ the Captain began, only to be waved silent by… Talos ass-fucking Mara… It was Emperor Uriel himself.

            “Unlock the door,” he ordered gravely. “The lodestar on which the sun’s fate and all that of Tamriel thrice over will turn is where she is meant to be.”

            “Looks like it’s your lucky day,” the Captain observed as she unlocked the door.

            “Not even the Champion for twenty-four hours and you’re already in the lock up,” the Redguard Blade observed amusedly. “Well, come on then, Northstar – we have an Emperor to save.”

            Aurelia nodded and stepped away from the door. “What’s going on?”

            “Assassins have murdered my entire legitimate family,” Uriel said with a sigh. “Now there is but one left… and he will need you, your faith and your fury and your fists in the future.”

            “Sire, we don’t know if your sons are dead,” protested the Captain.

            “They are,” Uriel said grimly.

            The chief Blade pulled on a torch ring and a section of the wall opened. “Let’s go,” she said. “If you betray us to the assassins-“

            “Lady, I’ve heard better trash talk from a blubbering condemned prisoner shitting out his bowels in the Arena,” Aurelia interrupted sardonically. “Why in the name of the gods would I betray the Emperor?”

            “You won’t,” Uriel said soberly. “Now come. The curtain is falling for me… and only just rising for you.”

            They took a section of the sewers that were infested with rats and mushrooms. “What the ever-loving shit-fuck is going on?” Aurelia asked the Redguard, whose name was Baurus.

            “Oblivion cultists ambushed us in the Emperor’s private gardens,” he replied grimly. “Glenroy and Renault managed to get him out but… we’re the last of a ten-man squad.”

            Now, Aurelia wasn’t the scholar that some of her kin were, but she _did_ remember some of the catechism she was taught as a child by Ralinde. “They’re trying to extinguish the Dragonfires,” she said flatly.

            “How the fuck-?” blurted Renault.

            “She’s one of the Aurelii,” Uriel said with a ghost of amusement in his blue eyes. “The, ah, half-Orc one.”

            “That abomin-“ Renault cut her words short when Aurelia graced her with a flat stare.

            “I had to kill my best friend and lover yesterday for the entertainment of thousands,” the Champion of the Arena informed the Blade. “Agronak found out about his heritage and he gave up on living. So shut your fucking mouth before I make you eat your fucking katana in one piece.”

            Renault never answered because some kind of portal opened and a red-clad assassin ran her through with a steel sword.

            Beyond recognising them as a Khajiit, Aurelia couldn’t identify anything else. She acted before the stunned Blades could, closing the distance and grabbing the assassin in a head lock. It was child’s play to snap their neck and drop them like garbage.

            “Get yourselves together!” she snapped. “Only Talos knows where the entrance to this shithole is.”

            It was apparently only Talos and Renault, because they got lost in the sewers and wound up in a dead-end. Glenroy fell by that time and only Baurus, the fan who was willing to obey her, remained. “How many of these fuckers are there?” he asked despairingly.

            “Many,” Uriel said, handing him a strip of jerky and water bottle from his robes. “My fate is ended and the grave calls me with a shrill cry. But do not despair, loyal Baurus, for hope is with us.”

            Those piercing blue eyes switched to Aurelia, who was using a strip of cloth to bind her fists. “You and Baurus must take the Amulet of Kings to Jauffre at Chorrol. He knows where my last son, the one no one knows about, is.”

            “Got a bastard, huh?” Aurelia asked bluntly. “Anyone I know?”

            “You will know him better than anyone else in the world,” Uriel told her. “Stand fast and shut the doors of Oblivion.”

            Then he closed his eyes as another portal opened up behind him. Aurelia lunged but it was too late. The Emperor was dead and with him, the Dragonfires extinguished.

…

“I’ll head up to Bruma and warn the Blades at Cloud Ruler Temple,” Baurus told Aurelia as they stopped outside the pastoral scene that was Weynon Priory. “And give them Renault and Glenroy’s swords.”

            “Is Jauffre going to believe me?” Aurelia asked dryly.

            “The Grand Champion of the Arena arriving with the Amulet of Kings? It’s so insane that it must be believable.”

            “Talos ass-fucking Mara,” Aurelia muttered. She thought the day before yesterday was the worst day of her life. Today was worse and Uriel’s words promised a whole world of pain to come.

            Then she took a deep breath. “While you’re up there, tell Ralinde to get off her pretty golden ass and take herself to the Imperial City. Ocato’s good but she knows every damn bit of juicy blackmail in Cyrodiil from now back to the time of Talos Himself.”

            “You think the Counts won’t cooperate with a Regent until we find this, uh, younger son of the Emperor’s?” Baurus asked, appalled.

            “Oh my sweet summer child, I’ve never known a noble who wouldn’t try to find some kind of advantage in a time like this,” Aurelia said sadly. “The worst will imagine themselves the next Tiber Septim – or try to plonk an empty-headed pretty bit in this bastard’s bed to breed themselves a pliable Septim.”

            She decided not to mention that Ralinde herself might try to arrange an appropriate union with the bloodline of Talos – the Dragon-Blooded lineage of Emperors – resting on a narrow thread.

            “By the Nine…” Baurus shuddered. “I’ll ride like the wind then. Talos with you.”

            “And you,” Aurelia told him. For a Blade, he wasn’t so bad.

            One of the Brothers was pumping water into a horse trough as she approached. “Where’s Jauffre?” she asked as his eyes widened.

            “In his office. You don’t look like a pilgrim or courier,” the cleric said slowly.

            “No, I’m the poor drunk sap who was put in the wrong cell,” Aurelia said with a sigh. “Go in peace, Brother.”

            Jauffre was an all-too-familiar Breton with a sparse tonsure and wiry muscles beneath his robes. “Aurelia Northstar,” he said, putting down the Black Horse Courier pamphlet that screamed EMPEROR ASSASSINATED! “What brings you here?”

            “Drowning my sorrows landed me in the special cell that Renault and the others took the old man through,” she told him bluntly, reaching inside her filthy armour. She pitied the armourer who had to mend it.

            Jauffre stared at the Amulet of Kings that dangled from her strong olive-bronze fingers. “Did anyone survive?”

            “Baurus. He’s taking Glenroy and Renault’s blades up to Cloud Ruler Temple.” She laid the blood-red diamond down on the desk reverently. “I told him to activate Ralinde and get her to the White-Gold Tower. There’ll be more than Oblivion breaking use.”

            The Grand Master of the Blades’ jaw dropped. “You are certain?”

            “Jauffre, I learned more about people in the dives and Arena than I ever learned in whatever bullshit etiquette class Ralinde tried to stuff down my throat,” Aurelia reminded him. “The Counts will try and take advantage of the chaos. Ralinde has enough blackmail material to wrangle them into submission.”

            “She does,” Jauffre agreed soberly. Then he sighed. “Did the Emperor tell you anything else?”

            “Yes. He’s got a bastard son and apparently we’re destined to stop this crisis together.”

            “Uriel was cursed with precognition – the dragon’s blood ran strong in him,” Jauffre said soberly. “Yes, there is a bastard. His name is Martin and he’s at the Temple of Akatosh in Kvatch.”

            “This is where you tell me to go find him,” Aurelia said flatly.

            “For all your… flaws… you have a remarkable ability to survive where greater people die,” Jauffre answered bluntly. “Uriel saw something greater than a drunken brawler in you. Live up to it.”

            Aurelia decided that turning away to obey the Grand Master was better than punching his teeth in. She could rest and get her armour fixed in Chorrol than having to deal with this prick.


	2. Blood Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. References to torture and rape in this chapter. If you’re curious, Aurelia is a Monk-class who instinctively uses a talent for Alteration to cast Ironflesh in combat.

 

Oblivion had broken free at Kvatch. If that wasn’t a sign of a greater mind beyond all this chaos, then Aurelia would dance a waltz with Marius in the White-Gold Tower at the next ball.

            “By the gods, it’s the Grand Champion!” someone blurted. “Are you here to save us?”

            Aurelia cracked her knuckles and gave her big shit-eating grin, the one that the crowds loved. “Well, I heard the Kvatch Arena had some new opponents, but I wasn’t expecting Daedra. Let’s see who’s tougher – me or them!”

            “You’re insane,” the guards before the hastily barred gate told her.

            “The world’s gone insane. Now stand aside. I have a mission to achieve.”

            “It’s your funeral,” one of the guards said as he unbarred the gate.

            Kvatch was Oblivion made incarnate. Dremora ran amuck in the streets, butchering and torturing and raping as they pleased. It was funny how fragile they really were when she’d worked herself up to a true rage, power coursing through her limbs as she smashed and bashed red-marked black skin into pulp. Her skin was as tough as iron, it felt, because the Daedric weapons barely marked her. By the time she reached a knot of guardsmen fighting some Dremora trying to break into the Temple of Akatosh, she had donned a pair of spiked Daedric gauntlets to assist in her blows.

            She roared, the Nord blood in her lending the shout force, and the Dremora scattered in confusion. Aurelia launched herself at the biggest one, who looked like some commander, and the guards began to tag-team the others. Good tactics; one on one for anyone not trained to it was suicide.

            “Finally, a worthy challenger appears!” rasped the Dremora Lord. “I am Kikrathiskul. Who are you?”

            “Aurelia Northstar, Grand Champion of the Imperial City Arena,” she replied. “Now get ready to feel the pain, asshole.”

            “And I thought today would be boring!” He lifted his greatsword and charged her.

            First and final mistake. Aurelia turned her lunge into a slide that had her skidding across the stone under his sword and between his legs. Dremora, it appeared, were not immune to the power of a gauntleted cock-punch. Kikra-whatever howled in his high rasp, sounding like one of those bastard annoying lorikeets from Valenwood, and folded over. She rose to her feet behind him, turned and slammed her iron-booted foot into his head with an ugly crack. What followed saw it turned to red ruin.

            When the haze of violence dissipated, she realised the guards weren’t fighting anymore. In fact, all the Daedra were dead and the survivors were staring at her in shock.

            “There’s survivors in the Temple,” said the oldest, a tough grey-haired veteran. “Brother Martin managed to get them inside.”

            “Alright. Well, we’ll get them out. If Brother Martin has a shit fit over it, tell him that he’s to go to Chorrol and report to Brother Jauffre at the Priory there,” she grated. “Does anyone have a damn clue what to do next?”

            “We need to close that gate and ascertain the fate of the Count,” replied the commander. “Why is Brother Martin so important?”

            Aurelia took a deep breath. “He’s the last fucking Septim. If you have to sacrifice Kvatch to get his ass to Weynon Priory, _do it._ ”

            “If we close that gate, we’ll have a better chance,” said a female guard. “I don’t know how, but…”

            “I’m used to making poor life choices,” Aurelia said dryly. “I’ll go in and see if I can’t close it down.”

            “You could die!” the commander blurted.

            “And if Martin does, we’re all fucked by Oblivion,” Aurelia countered. “You see what’s happened to Kvatch? Imagine that shit all over Tamriel.”

            “I’ll go with you,” the female guard said. “I studied Conjuration in a misspent youth.”

            “You sound like my kind of friend,” Aurelia said with a grin. “I’m Aurelia Northstar.”

            “Sidgara Storm-Sword.” They shook hands. Sidgara was black-haired and turquoise-eyed, with the fair skin and hearty build of a Nord.

            “Matius, you heard the lady. Get Martin and the others out,” Sidgara told the commander.

            “I will. Your sacrifice is appreciated.”

            Aurelia snorted. “Save the fancy words for our funeral. Let’s go, Sidgara.”

…

Martin clutched the Amulet of Akatosh his mother’s father had given him, praying under his breath as the sky howled above. The Grand Champion of the Arena and a brave Kvatchian guard had entered the Oblivion Gate while a detachment of troops led the surviving civilians to the encampment outside the walls, Salvian Matius storming Castle Kvatch to rescue the Count… or at least his signet ring.

            Why had the Dremora come here? This was the place where St Alessia received the blessing of Akatosh in her fight against the unholy hordes of Oblivion and their Ayleid worshippers. Was this a salvo in a new war?

            He was so caught up in his prayers that it was the sound of cheering that broke his concentration. Martin lifted his gaze and stared in astonishment at a sky that was blue once more.

            A Nord-tall woman with olive-bronze skin, almost grotesque musculature and a fearsome underbite was approaching him. In one hand was a stone etched with Daedric lettering and the other carried the head of a powerful Dremora. Behind her limped Sidgara Storm-Sword, her strange shock-enchanted greatsword black with Dremora blood. After them was Salvian Matius with the body of the Count in his arms.

            “Praise Akatosh!” he said, scrambling to his feet.

            “Akatosh had nothing to do with it,” the Champion drawled. Her white armour was filthy and bloodstained, while numerous lesser wounds gashed her bare limbs. “You should really thank Talos and His Shieldmaiden Sidgara.”

            Then she sat down in the dirt, dropping what she’d carried out, and fell face-forward.

            Martin knelt by her side. Just exhaustion and blood loss. His golden Restoration spells sank into her olive-bronze flesh as the townsfolk mobbed Sidgara. The Grand Champion would live.

            He was still sitting by her when she came to several hours later. Whatever Sidgara had done, it was nothing compared to her beating almost every Dremora in Kvatch to death with little more than her bare fists. Salvian told him she was Aurelia Northstar… and that when she was awake, he would need to travel to Chorrol with her.

            “Food?” he asked, offering a lukewarm bowl of broth. He could barely eat with the memories of the horror. He hadn’t slept.

            “Thanks.” She inhaled the meal. By daylight, Aurelia Northstar wasn’t any more beautiful. In fact, the unkind would call her ugly, even hideous. Obvious Orcish ancestry in her underbite and muscles. Possibly Nord if the pale green of her eyes was anything to go by. No wonder she could crush a Dremora’s head in with one blow.

            “I’m Martin,” he offered awkwardly.

            “I know.” She said the bowl aside. “What has Matius told you?”

            “That I have to travel to Chorrol with you because of my father,” he said slowly. “What does he have to do with anything?”

            A rough kindness filled her eyes and voice. “Martin… You’re the last Septim. Your father was Uriel Septim. This gate… is part of something bigger. I dunno which Prince is behind it, but the Daedra want you dead before you can light the Dragonfires.”

            An awful realisation crashed down upon him. “They attacked… because of me?”

            “Yep. Shame Jauffre didn’t give you to the Blades. It would do Cloud Ruler Temple some good to have something useful to do.”

            “I’m to blame for everyone dying?” He tried to keep his voice down. Aurelia’s voice rang with truth and even sympathy.

            “Nah, the morons who killed all your relatives are,” Aurelia told him. “We need to get going as soon as you’re ready. Jauffre’s sitting on the Amulet of Kings and-“

            The final revelation was too much for Martin and he fainted.


	3. Weynon Priory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, implied rape/non-con, and discussions of child abuse and death in childbirth.

 

Cyrodiil had never quite recovered from the years of the Imperial Simulacrum and Jagar Tharn’s mismanagement. Bandits flourished in the ruins, forests and crevices scattered across the province, preying on the weak and vulnerable. The ones who’d ambushed a farmer’s family travelling with their meagre goods piled on a rickety wagon were no different to those Aurelia killed on the way here.

            She glanced over her shoulder at Martin. His drab brown robe concealed a sturdier body than she expected and his skin was closer to its warm olive hue than the ashen-white of shock. “Can you fight?” she asked softly. “We can’t get past these bastards, not with the wagon in the way.”

            He took one look at the bandits down the road, saw what they were doing with the women of the family as the men bled out in the dust, and his blue eyes hardened. Nothing like an innocent suffering to get a true cleric thinking of something other than their woeful lot. “I was a Journeyman in the Mages’ Guild once,” he said tightly. “My specialties were Destruction and Conjuration.”

            Aurelia raised an eyebrow. “Can you Conjure a Flame Atronach?”

            “…Yes,” he admitted.

            “Then throw one on that cliff overlooking the road. Apologise to Akatosh later.” Aurelia cracked her knuckles, feeling her skin harden. “If I fall, you cut straight through and leave me behind.”

            Martin nodded unhappily. Two days of travel and one of those Oblivion Gates was enough to convince him of the dire situation.

            “Let’s go.”

            There were five bandits in total, clad in a collection of rough fur and fur with only the leader wearing rusty iron armour. Martin’s Atronach took out the two archers and a third ruffian who was struggling to pull his pants up by the time Aurelia collided with the thug in iron.

            “Gladiator, eh?” he spat to the side. “Maybe I’ll teach you the real place of a woman, as ugly as you are.”

            He raised his cheap rusty spear and charged. Aurelia danced aside and let him rush past her, glancing at the girl struggling to sit up. “Stay down or you’ll get yourself killed.”

            She froze then nodded. Momentarily distracted, Aurelia missed the fifth bandit… until his dagger sank into her side, drawing an enraged bellow from her. Then she saw nothing but red.

            When she came to, everything was splashed with blood and the raped girl was stabbing the screaming bandit leader with his own broken spear. She was tall and blond, probably a Nord or half-Nord. Her technique was shaky but that didn’t seem to matter.

            Martin was tending to the two wounded men and the mother, hands glowing golden as he healed wounds. Judging by the scorching on the road, he’d summoned lightning to deal with the bandits.

            Aurelia pressed a hand to her side and hobbled over. “Any dead on our side?”

            “No. Janus here might have a permanent limp and the women… Well, they’ll have scars. But no one will die today, Akatosh be praised,” Martin replied as he rose to his feet. “Give me a look at that wound.”

            Sitting on a broken crate with her armour off and having a priest of Akatosh cleanse, heal and close the wound was a new experience. The gaggle of farmers collected their scattered belongings with the kind of grim determination she recalled so well from her year in the Legion.

            “You did good,” she told the girl, predictably named Jana. “Where were you heading?”

            “Bruma,” she replied. “Da’s a bit of a blacksmith and we heard the Blades’ current one was lookin’ for an apprentice.”

            Aurelia hunted down a bit of parchment and used some charcoal to scrawl a message. “Take this to Agol gro-Mashog and tell them Aurelia Northstar vouches for you. He owes me a favour and it’ll keep you fed until Cloud Ruler Temple makes up its mind.”

            “Thank you!” Janus exclaimed. “Thank you for helping us.”

            She shrugged. “Those bastards were in our way.”

            It wasn’t until they’d packed their wagon, looted the bandits, and taken off with the goods that Martin spoke again. “Are you a Blade?”

            “No. My grandmother and mother were though.” Aurelia sighed. “It’s a short, ugly tale at best.”

            “Tell me,” he said quietly. “I need… distraction.”

            She sighed again. “My grandmother was a Shieldmaiden of Talos who wound up in the Blades as a warrior. My mother was walking in her footsteps until she met an Orcish blacksmith. The Aurelii… didn’t approve. My mother died in childbirth and for the first ten years, I didn’t even know who my father was, but I was reminded of how much less than the other kids I was.”

            “Agol?” Martin guessed.

            “Yeah. By the time I was sent to him, I was too angry and violent to be a blacksmith, so he had me trained as a berserker.” Aurelia studied her large callused hands. Even in the ruddy light, she could see the beginning of swollen knuckles. “I could be angry forever and still not tap the well of rage in me. Does that make me the monster the Aurelii called me?”

            Martin’s mouth tightened. “If you are a monster, you are a compassionate one. And perhaps…”

            “Perhaps?”

            “You might be the monster we need to fight the Daedra.”

…

It was a priest’s duty to give comfort and so Martin was only happy to reassure Aurelia in her brief moment of… vulnerability. Over the course of the next day as they continued on to Weynon Priory, he questioned her about life as a gladiator and what she knew of the Blades. It distracted him from the memories of the attack on Kvatch. Aurelia told him it wasn’t his fault, but… It was.

            They encountered an Oblivion Gate near Chorrol and Aurelia cursed fluently. “Weynon Priory’s about an hour away,” she told him. “Get your ass there and I’ll close the thing.”

            Now aware of his importance to the greater realm, Martin obeyed. He picked up his robes and ran like the wind. Behind him, he heard the squeals of scamps and Aurelia’s throaty roar.

            He arrived at a Priory in shambles. Blood was splashed everywhere and a Dunmer in rough garments was hugging himself, rocking slightly. “What happened?”

            “Assassins… Prior Maborel…” the Dunmer said brokenly. “Jauffre’s wounded.”

            Jauffre, as Martin understood it, was the Grandmaster of the Blades. He placed a hand on the stablehand’s shoulder and used a Calm spell before entering the solid stone Priory.

            He closed the eyes of the dead Prior Maborel and then climbed the stairs to the next level, where a whip-lean Breton wearing nothing but a loincloth was having his wounds tended by a monk. “By the Nine,” Jauffre said in relief. “I feared you were dead, Martin.”

            “The Daedra destroyed Kvatch just to get to me,” Martin said harshly. “If it wasn’t for Aurelia Northstar, I’d likely be dead.”

            “She has a talent for survival and brutality,” Jauffre agreed with a distasteful twist of the lips. “Where is she?”

            “Destroying her third Oblivion Gate in as many days. They’re everywhere in the countryside.” Martin sat down on one of the beds. “What happened here?”

            “The Daedric cult known as the Mythic Dawn attacked us,” Jauffre said with a sigh. “They… Well…”

            “Well?”

            “They have the Amulet of Kings. I left it unguarded when I went to heal Maborel-“

            Martin allowed himself the luxury of a curse unbecoming of a priest. “So what now?”

            “We have to get you to Cloud Ruler Temple so the Blades can concentrate on finding the Amulet,” Jauffre answered, lips a bit white. So he had enough Orcish to understand the curse. “Let Brother Piner finish my healing and we’ll leave.”

            “I’m not going without Aurelia Northstar,” Martin told the Grandmaster bluntly. “She is an extraordinary fighter and has killed sixty or seventy Daedra in the past four days. With her bare hands.”

            “As I said, she has a talent for survival and brutality,” Jauffre answered. “But we dare not linger-“

            Aurelia entered the dormitory and threw a Dremora Lord’s head at Jauffre’s feet. Now she had three of the strange carved stones. “So, I know how to shut those gates down. Kill everything in my way, get to the top of the tower, and yank out those weird carved rocks.”

            “I’ll tell the Chorrol Mages’ Guild and they can spread the word,” Piner said quickly.

            “Good man,” Aurelia replied. “So, Jauffre, what now?”

            “We’re going to Cloud Ruler Temple,” the Grandmaster said tightly as Piner finished binding his wound. “I trust we can count on you remaining sober for that long?”

            “I only drink when I’m not fighting,” Aurelia replied, lantern jaw tensing and pale green eyes flashing. “Good thing there’s probably plenty of bandits and renegades between here and Bruma.”

            “Aurelia Northstar has saved my life twice already and closed three Oblivion Gates with assistance only on one of them,” Martin said calmly. “So far as I’m concerned, she’s an integral part of this, and I name her my personal champion during this crisis.”

            If he _was_ to be the new Emperor, he might as well lay down the law now. The flash of contempt in Jauffre’s eyes whenever he addressed the gladiator hadn’t gone unnoticed. The Grandmaster knew nothing.

            Aurelia cracked a big ugly grin as Jauffre struggled to keep a stoic demeanour. “See, Jauffre? I’m guaranteed to remain sober during this mess.”

            Martin couldn’t help but return the grin and didn’t wonder why.


	4. Cloud Ruler Temple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence and child abuse. I’m bringing in characters some of my oldest readers will remember, though much changed.

 

“Dear old Bruma. Still the frozen shithole of the North.”

            Aurelia hated this town and its bastardised Cyro-Nord-Akaviri culture. She hated seeing the judgmental expressions on people’s faces and hearing their whispers about the drunken disgrace who had the worst aspects of Nord and Orc combined. Even wearing the white armour of the Grand Champion did fuck-all to impress the Akaviri Nords and Colovians as they swanned around with katanas on their hips and contempt in their eyes. One of the gro-Mashog cousins raised his hand in greeting and she returned it. After her mother’s death, Agol had married an Orcish woman and brought his extended family from Orsinium. The Aurelii might despise him for depriving them of a Shieldmaiden but the Carvains respected his smithing abilities. The Aurelii weren’t half as important as Ralinde thought they were.

            They passed through the town and climbed the switchback path to Cloud Ruler Temple. Much to Aurelia’s displeasure, Ralinde was waiting for them in the courtyard, flanked by the Temple Master Marius and Baurus. Legend painted the tawny-skinned, ebon-haired Altmer as the granddaughter of an Akaviri warlord, a former consort of Talos, and the Blades Agent who had a hand in the Warp in the West. Family legend was probably bullshit, but Aurelia conceded the woman was a consummate manipulator.

            “Why the fuck aren’t you in the Imperial City?” she demanded before Ralinde could speak.

            “I felt I should greet the last of the Septims first,” Ralinde replied coolly. “I see you are as crude as ever.”

            “If it wasn’t for Aurelia, I wouldn’t be here,” Martin said softly. “She is my personal Champion – and my hands – during this crisis.”

            Marius, a handsome young Altmer whose jade-green eyes were older than his years, bowed stiffly. “Your Imperial Majesty, we are pleased to confirm Aurelia’s position as Imperial Champion. She is a skilled combatant, however unrefined her manners are, and capable of achieving great things.”

            “High praise from the Eternal Champion,” Aurelia told him. “I’m glad to see you didn’t inherit Jauffre’s stick up the ass.”

            Martin’s blue eyes widened swiftly before he resumed his serene expression.

            Marius grinned. “I’m told the stick is reserved for the Grandmaster and inserted during the oathtaking ritual. Speaking of which…?”

            “I’ll be resuming my duties,” Jauffre told him gruffly. “You are relieved of all Grandmaster duties until the end of this… Oblivion crisis.”

            “Thank you. I took the liberty of promoting Baurus to Senior Knight-Brother.” Marius turned to Martin. “I have arranged a private room for your Imperial Majesty. I hope it will meet your satisfaction?”

            “I was a priest of Akatosh until seven days ago,” Martin said quietly. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

            “Then welcome to Cloud Ruler Temple.”

            The Blades unsheathed their katanas as Martin climbed the stairs. Ralinde found herself at the back of the group as Aurelia took the right side and Marius the left. Petty… but it was payback for some of the Altmer’s sneers as a child.

            Martin was soon ensconced in his room, which was clearly Marius’ judging by the simple silk pallet and rack containing an elegant ebony katana.

            “The Ebony Blade!” the priest said with some surprise.

            “Yes. A vile weapon, but I keep it here where none can touch it,” Marius said simply. “You’ve seen it before?”

            “Only in the stories of the…” Martin’s voice trailed off.

            “’The Eternal Champion’,” Marius finished with a twist of the lips. “Fostered by the great General Warhaft, son of Aurelia Ralinde, and defeater of Jagar Tharn. Allow me to enlighten you both – being a hero isn’t as great as it’s made out to be. That is why I retired here to serve as Temple Master.”

            “One achieves much more with anonymity,” Ralinde agreed from behind them.

            “You, _anonymous_?” Aurelia asked with a sceptical snort.

            “Few alive today know what I look like,” Ralinde answered icily.

            “We do need you in the Imperial City,” Jauffre told her grimly. “Ocato is a fine man and competent administrator, but he isn’t the greatest diplomat.”

            “Whereas I have something called tact and charm,” Ralinde said with a faint smile.

            “I have tact and charm,” Aurelia reassured her. “My left fist is tact and my right fist is charm.”

            Martin stifled a laugh and even Marius looked amused. “You haven’t changed, Aurelia Too-.”

            “It’s Aurelia Northstar these days,” she corrected him. “I couldn’t take gra-Mashog for obvious reasons, so Northstar sounded… kind of Nordy.”

            “My grandfather would approve,” Martin said with a smile.

            Ralinde’s smile was pasted on. “Perhaps his Majesty would like to rest?”

            “Please,” Martin told her. “It’s been a long trip and I’ve had to take a lot in.”

            “Get some sleep,” Aurelia told him.

            He smiled. “I’ll try.”

…

Two days at Cloud Ruler Temple and Martin was getting stir-crazy. Jauffre had resumed his duties as Grandmaster, detailing Blades to find out the motives of the Mythic Dawn, and Ralinde had instructed the servants to furnish every luxury available for the Emperor. Everyone was very deferential, refusing to discuss anything of importance, and only Aurelia, Baurus and Marius treated him with any kind of informality.

            “I need fresh air,” Martin muttered to Aurelia as they broke their fast on rice bread and snowberry jam. “Is it safe for me to leave?”

            “I know three ways out of this place,” she replied immediately. “You’re going with me and Baurus will be on our back trail.”

            Martin sighed, but he appreciated the need for security. “Thank you. I just…”

            “Yeah, I know. I hate this place. Hate Bruma too, but for my Dad’s kin.” She devoured her breakfast. “Let’s go before Ralinde wakes up or she’ll fill your day with another set of etiquette lessons.”

            Martin shuddered. He should be learning politics and war, not which fork to use with lobster!

            Half an hour later, they slipped out of Cloud Ruler Temple, Baurus following them in nondescript peasant’s garb. It was a good hour’s walk into Bruma and Martin looked around with unabashed curiosity. Almost everyone, Cyrod and Nord, had complexions tinged with bronze, darker shades of hair and wore a katana, a wazikashi or a short flat-ended dagger that Aurelia called a ‘tanto’.

            “Most of Bruma can trace their ancestry back to the Dragonguard,” she said with a twist of her lips. “My grandmother and mother were sterling examples of the Akaviri Nord. I’m… something of a let-down in their eyes.”

            “Talos save me from the Akaviri Nords and Cyrods,” Baurus agreed dryly. “They think they’re the Hero-God’s gift to Tamriel.”

            Martin grinned. “They got it right with Aurelia, at least. I can’t speak for the others.”

            The Grand Champion flushed and looked away. “Agronak would have agreed with you.”

            They walked along the terraces of Bruma until they came to a bustling forge where a muscular Orc with skin the colour of orichalcum was shaping molten metal into ingots. “Hey Dad,” Aurelia greeted with a grin. “I’m the new Grand Champion!”

            “And the Hero of Kvatch, I hear.” Agol gro-Mashog continued to pour metal into moulds. “I’m guessing you and Agronak had a falling out?”

            Aurelia looked away. “His father was a vampire. He… gave up.”

            “Malacath’s mercy. I hope the poor bastard finds peace in the Ashpits.” Agol handed the crucible to a younger version of himself and wiped his sooty hands on a rag. “So I’m guessing your blue-eyed friend is…?”

            “Yes,” Aurelia admitted quietly. “He wanted to see Bruma.”

            “I’d bow, but Malacath teaches us to kneel to no king,” Agol said with a bow of his head. “Get yourself crowned as soon as possible. This Mythic Dawn lot sounds nasty.”

            “They are. The Oblivion Gates aren’t much fun either,” Aurelia confirmed.

            “Your daughter’s killed several dozen Daedra,” Martin told the blacksmith. “If not for her, I wouldn’t be here.”

            “I know.” Agol’s expression was wise. “Live for us all, Uriel’s son. If you die, all is lost.”

            “He won’t die,” Aurelia said softly. “I won’t let him.”

            “It’s the Chief’s duty to live and die for his people,” Agol said softly. “Even you and your rage can’t change that, Aurelia.”

            _“He will not die.”_


	5. Sidgara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Because I believe in competent NPCs, certain quests in the main storyline will be left to the appropriate person. Morrowind fans, please don’t hate me for how Sidgara tells the Nerevarine’s story.

 

Ralinde left with Baurus for the Imperial City. Blades agents discovered that the Mythic Dawn had four ‘holy books’ called the Mythic Dawn Commentaries, which were supposedly their interpretation of the Mysterium Xarxes. Aurelia didn’t know and didn’t care. She was just glad to see the Altmer doing something useful for a change. Shame poor Baurus had to put up with her though.

            Instead, she spent her days training with Martin and Marius. The Temple Master was adamant that the last Septim learn how to use weaponry in case his magic failed him. Aurelia was mostly the practice dummy as her knowledge of Alteration allowed her to harden her skin like iron. Martin was improving with frightening speed, going from an absolute novice to someone able to hold his own in an Arena grand melee within a month. Marius couldn’t be that good a teacher, could he?

            “It’s the dragon’s blood,” the young Altmer explained as he doused himself with a bucket of cold water after training one day. “It isn’t just a figure of speech – the Septims are Dragonborn, though few outside the Blades know the significance of it these days.”

            “Oh?” Aurelia asked, stripping off her bracers.

            “Most of it isn’t relevant unless a dragon – a true dragon, not those wretched wyverns from High Rock – was to arrive at Cloud Ruler Temple,” he replied with some amusement. “But what matters is that Martin has an affinity for war and prescience that will develop swiftly under my tutelage.”

            “If Baurus’ report is true, I’ll need it,” Martin said, hanging his rattan katana on its rack. “Oblivion Gates are opening everywhere.”

            “Yes.” Marius sighed. “Aurelia, I’m going to need you to teach Blades squads how to enter and close the wretched things.”

            “It’s not hard,” she said dryly. “Go inside, kill anything in the way, and rip the sigil stone from the heart of the demonic keep.”

            Marius almost dropped the bucket and his jaw slackened. “That’s it?”

            “That’s it.”

            A new wave of orders went out from Cloud Ruler Temple along with a pair of elite Blades for each city. Reports coming in from the other provinces boded ill: Crystal-Like-Law, the Tower of the Summerset Isle, collapsed under the weight of Daedra and Skyrim was inundated with Gates. The kingdoms bordering Orsinium were already making plans to wipe the Orcish province from the map and the Dunmer were still in turmoil after their Nerevarine prophecy became true.

            “I wish one of my half-brothers survived,” Martin said moodily as they studied the lights of Bruma from the courtyard one chilly night. “It would be _his_ problem and I’d still be a priest of Akatosh.”

            “Maybe not,” Aurelia said quietly. “You still would have been this ‘Dragonborn’. Shame we can’t take a trip to Skyrim.”

            “Why?”

            “Apparently they’ve had a lot of Dragonborns and there’s an entire monastery dedicated to studying this Shouting language they can reportedly use.” Aurelia cracked a grin. “I’ve heard they can Shout fire.”

            “That would be an interesting ability,” Martin agreed with a wan smile.

            “You could help keep the metal hot while Dad works it.”

            Martin laughed and his dark mood passed for the moment.

            A week later, Sidgara Storm-Sword arrived. Instead of Kvatchian armour, she wore a strange set of ebony-allowed quicksilver plate that could only be described as ‘carved’, totemic imagery of a snarling bear adorning the helmet. “Shieldmaiden,” Jauffre said politely as she entered the main hall.

            “Grandmaster,” she replied with equal formality. “As per the agreement between our orders, I’ve been sent to serve with the Blades until this crisis is over.”

            Jauffre blinked. “I don’t recall such an agreement-“

            The black-haired Nord snorted. “I’m not surprised. You’ve forgotten a lot of Talos’ earliest decrees. We Shieldmaidens haven’t.”

            “Sidgara!” Martin greeted, his handsome face breaking into a broad smile. Aurelia quashed the feeling of jealousy. They knew each other from Kvatch and… well, Sidgara was probably a better match than anything Ralinde could scrounge up in a hurry. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

            “Don’t be. My da’s the Jarl of Falkreath and it’s family tradition the firstborn daughter becomes a Shieldmaiden of Talos,” Sidgara replied as she removed her helmet. “Because I’ve lived in Cyrodiil these past few years, the High-Mother felt I was the best choice to join the Blades – seeing as the Blades haven’t sent one of their own to learn our ways, as Talos Himself commanded back in the day.”

            “I wasn’t aware of this agreement,” Jauffre said with a raised eyebrow.

            “Because it was Mother who made the arrangements,” Marius said quietly. “We didn’t have any suitable candidates after Aurelia Thunderstorm died in childbirth.”

            “My mother was a Shieldmaiden,” Aurelia said softly.

            “And your grandmother,” Sidgara confirmed. “I’m a lifer, but some women spend a few years as a Shieldmaiden before getting married. In the case of the Aurelii Shieldmaidens, it was more of a ritual thing… but it was a custom. We should have been told so someone would have been sent sooner.”

            “Sidgara, may I brief the Grandmaster while you rest and refresh yourself?” Marius asked politely.

            “Sure.” Sidgara’s tone was dry as the desert.

            Marius shuffled his father off, Martin looking after them with a perplexed expression. “I seem to be missing much of the conversation.”

            “I’ll fill you in while we eat,” Sidgara assured him. “The High-Mother’s not going to be amused when she finds out. She’s already angry over the Oblivion Gates.”

            “How is Skyrim coping?” Martin asked as he led them into the mess hall.

            “It’ll take more than a few Daedra to put us down. The Shieldmaidens and the Companions are working overtime though, even with knowing how to shut the damn things.” Sidgara sighed and shook her head. “There’s some talk of trying to coax the Greybeards down from High Hrothgar. If anyone can Shout a Dremora arse over tit, it’s a Greybeard.”

            Over a meal of rice bread, tomato soup and ale, Sidgara explained that every generation since the rise of Tiber Septim, the Shieldmaidens and the Blades exchanged members and knowledge. Aurelia’s mother (called Thunderstorm for her temper) and grandmother Svari had been Shieldmaidens, trained up at the great complex in northern Skyrim named Yngvild.

            “You should have been trained there,” she said in between mouthfuls of food. “It was your blood-right.”

            “I’m half-Orc,” Aurelia pointed out. “Don’t Nords have a problem with mer-bloods?”

            “We get on well enough with Orcs. The only requirement is that you worship Talos and be the daughter of a Nord woman,” Sidgara responded.

            “I’m more inclined to Malacath when I pray,” Aurelia admitted. “He doesn’t give a damn who your mother was so long as you have some Orcish blood and a sense of honour.”

            “Fair enough.” Sidgara dipped some of her bread into her soup. “The Grandmaster better not try to throw me out. The Shieldmaidens handle much of the intelligence coming out of Skyrim and Morrowind. If he decides to insult the High-Mother, the Blades will be crippled – and your Morrowind operations are already compromised because Irileth murdered the Tribunal.”

            “I’m not a Blade,” Aurelia told her. “I just happen to be related to a lot of the bastards.”

            “Who’s Irileth and how did she manage to murder the Tribunal?” Martin asked with narrowed eyes.

            “Irileth is the Nerevarine. Your dear old da had the bright idea of undermining the anti-Imperial Great Houses by sending someone who matched Azura’s prophecy to Morrowind.” Sidgara snorted. “It’s ended with House Hlaalu in trouble, the Redoran gaining support, and the Tribunal getting into a brawl with the Nerevarine. Details are scanty, but Sotha Sil was murdered first, then Almalexia died. No one knows where Vivec pissed off to, but that comet smacking into Red Mountain has seriously fucked Morrowind up more than it already was. Wasn’t Irileth an assassin?”

            “Damned if I know,” Martin admitted. “Until six weeks ago, I was simply a priest of Akatosh.”

            “Smart of old Uriel to keep you up his sleeve,” Sidgara said meditatively. “We Nords don’t have bastardry as you Cyrods know it. If you’re a bastard, you’re just pushed back one place in the line of succession – unless the Thanes and franklins like you more than your legitimate relatives.”

            “Nord politics sounds exciting,” Martin said wryly.

            “It certainly keeps the Jarls relatively honest,” Sidgara said with a grin. “Since I’m sworn clergy and not in the line of succession, the jockeying over the Stag Throne is amusing. My bet’s on Balgeir.”

            “Wait, you’re a priest of Talos?” Aurelia asked.

            “All Shieldmaidens are. Our nearest equivalent might be the elven Paladin.” Sidgara grinned. “We tend to be a bit more, ah, proactive than yours. Talos is the god of humanity and we are its protectors.”

            Jauffre entered the mess hall. “I apologise, Shieldmaiden,” he told Sidgara. “It appears things were… disorganised during the years of the Imperial Simulacrum and much was forgotten. You are, of course, welcome to stay as long as you wish.”

            “Uh huh,” Sidgara said with some scepticism. “So, where am I bunking?”

            “The women’s dormitories are in the west wing. Aurelia will show you.”

            Aurelia rose to her feet. “Any word from Ralinde?”

            “None that concerns you.” Jauffre’s tone was chilly.

            She hoped Martin was proud of the fact that she didn’t give him the finger as she and Sidgara left the mess hall.


	6. Spies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death and violence.

 

Baurus returned a few days after Sidgara’s arrival with four books, bandages and only one eye. “I’ve found Dagon’s shrine,” he reported tersely to Jauffre. “It’s under Lake Arrius.”

            “Well done,” the Grandmaster commended. “Go and see the healers. I’ll take it from here.”

            The Redguard saluted and left. Aurelia folded her arms. “Now what?”

            Jauffre smiled thinly. “You’re going to Lake Arrius to eliminate the cult there.”

            “Don’t be daft,” Sidgara said with a snort. “It’s an open secret that Aurelia is the Hero of Kvatch and the Grand Champion of the Arena. If she shows up, the Mythic Dawn will know we’re on to them.”

            “If not Aurelia, then who?” Jauffre asked with a raised eyebrow.

            “I’ll go. My oath as a Shieldmaiden permits me to lie and even commit murder for the greater good,” was the Kreathling’s prompt reply. “I lost friends at Kvatch because of these bastards and I’m minded to dish out a little more righteous vengeance.”

            “It’s not just a matter of vengeance,” Martin, who’d been leafing through the books Baurus brought, said quietly. “Mankar Camoran may have the very Mysterium Xarxes itself.”

            Sidgara nodded. “All the better that I go. I, ah, may have a certain dagger that belongs to a certain Daedric Prince.”

            She reached into her boot and pulled out a matte-grey dagger with a crescent-moon quillion. “I found it years ago during my wander-year and since Talos says never to throw away a useful weapon…”

            “They will assume you are the Champion of Mehrunes Dagon,” Martin said, eyebrow lifting.

            “Precisely.” Sidgara returned the dagger to her boot. “I’ll leave at dawn tomorrow. Any other orders?”

            “Don’t get yourself killed,” Aurelia advised with a grin.

…

“You look like shit.”

            Martin glanced up at Aurelia, who was leaning against the frame of the door to Marius’ bedroom. The Temple Master had refused to let him sleep with the men in the barracks, citing ‘Imperial dignity’. Perhaps it was a kindness disguised as propriety, because Martin kept on having nightmares about what happened in Kvatch… and dreams of a future that didn’t bode well.

            “The Commentaries are difficult to translate, even for a former Daedric cultist,” he admitted with a sigh.

            Aurelia’s eyebrows shot up. For once, the unflappable Grand Champion looked shocked. “Come again?”

            It was out now, so he might as well confess it all. “As you know, I was raised by a farmer – probably a former Blade now I think on it – and went to the Mages Guild at sixteen to study. I fell in with a rowdy crowd and… well, I will admit I have wielded the Sanguine Rose.”

            Aurelia’s eyebrows went higher. “ _You_ were a Sanguine cultist?”

            “Yes,” he admitted with a flush of shame. No doubt Aurelia would think less of him now, knowing he’d participated in decadent orgies of sex and intoxication.

            Much to his surprise, she grinned. “Damn shame I didn’t meet you then.”

            Martin, prepared for censure and disgust, was startled by her comment into laughing, which turned into crying. Aurelia abandoned her place by the door and came to the desk, wrapping a muscular arm around his shoulder and pulling him close.

            When he was done, she handed him a scrap of cloth to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.

            “Agronak, the guy I had to kill to become Grand Champion, kept a lot of things inside,” she said gently. “We were… close.”

            “You were lovers, right?” He remembered her mentioning it a few times.

            “Yeah. Well, I was happy to remain second-rank so long as we didn’t fight in the Arena. Then some adventurer he sent out to find information about his dad came back and said the old guy was a vampire who’d managed to knock up an Orcish woman. Agronak… didn’t take the news well. He scheduled the fight and since you have to accept the contest or be busted down to the ranks, I…”

            She glanced away. “I won. Agronak had given up and every time I threw him to the ground, he got up and attacked me. In the end, I had no choice. If it wasn’t me, it would have been one of those Yellow Team bastards. I owed it to him to see the title stay with the Blue Team.”

            “That was cruel and selfish of him to put that in your hands,” Martin said softly.

            “Or maybe it was his way of making sure I’d be the Champion,” she said, tears glittering in her pale green eyes. “Agronak… I wish I could have convinced him he wasn’t an abomination. We were going to retire in a couple years and set up a training school.”

            Martin patted her shoulder awkwardly. “You will open your school, Aurelia.”

            “No, I won’t. That was Agronak’s dream, not mine.”

            “What’s yours?”

            Her lantern jaw set. “To write my name in blood on Mehrunes Dagon’s sorry hide.”

…

Sidgara returned with the Mysterium Xarxes. “Well, Mankar Camoran knows we’re on to him now,” she told Martin as she dropped the unholy tome on his desk. “I’ve been attacked by three different assassins on the way. They were chosen for their fervour, it appears, because they certainly weren’t competent.”

            “Steffen’s worried that people are scouting Cloud Ruler,” Aurelia reported. “They’re not very good, but we can’t just haul up every stranger as a spy.”

            “Well, we _could_ , but things are troublesome enough.” Sidgara chewed her bottom lip. “I’ll leave the Xarxes with you two. I need to pray to Talos.”

            The Shieldmaiden stalked off and Martin sighed. “Go talk to Steffen and I’ll start reading this damn book.”

            Aurelia leaned over and squeezed his shoulder. “Eat first.”

            He shook his head. “No. Never read Daedric script on a full stomach.”

            He was the expert, she supposed. Aurelia nodded and left the room.

            “Northstar,” greeted the Blade as he watched the gate. “So you’re looking into these spies?”

            “We’re a little closer to having Mankar Camoran by the balls,” Aurelia admitted. “They’ll be getting desperate.”

            “Indeed.” Steffen chewed his bottom lip. “I’ve sent word to Captain Burd and Countess Carvain to watch for any suspicious activity, but if you could go into Bruma yourself…”

            “If anyone’s acting suspicious, Dad would have noticed,” Aurelia told him. “I’ll ask him first.”

            “Wonderful. Talos with you.”

            It was a pleasant walk down to Bruma. Her father was hammering orichalcum into a triple-folded greatsword for Captain Burd, a dark-haired Nord known for being tough but fair. “Just the two people I want to see,” Aurelia said with a grin.

            “I’m married,” Burd said dryly.

            “Don’t flatter yourself, Captain. I’d break you like a twig,” Aurelia retorted as Agol snickered.

            “That’s true. Okhra is woman enough for me.” Burd leaned against the smithy wall. “I doubt the Imperial Champion’s down here to have a friendly chat with her father and brother-in-law.”

            “Wait, you married my sister?” Aurelia asked in surprise.

            “Why not?”

            “I thought Okhra had her heart set on that Orc from Largashbur over in Skyrim, that’s all.”

            “He got himself killed doing something stupid,” Agol said, quenching the steel. “His da made an offer, but Okhra wanted to stay here.”

            “Well, Burd, it’s good to see you have excellent taste in addition to being fair,” Aurelia said with a smile. “But, you’re right, I am here on business. I need to know if anyone’s been acting suspiciously over the past week or so – and not just standard Guild business either.”

            “Jearl and Saveri,” Burd replied promptly. “Both travel a _lot_ and are… skulkers, if that make senses.”

            “I know what you mean,” Aurelia said. “They’re not Guild?”

            “Corvus assures me they’re not.” Burd’s mouth quirked to the side. “Is he really a Blade?”

            “You know I can’t confirm that,” Aurelia chided him. “So… will it cause hard feelings if I bash in Jearl’s door and start investigating?”

            “Not on my end. Neither woman’s particularly liked in Bruma. Saveri actually blasphemed Talos at one point.” Burd sounded shocked. Seeing as Talos was practically the centre of the Nordic religion, Aurelia wasn’t surprised.

            “Fine.” Aurelia cracked her knuckles. “No time like now.”

            Bashing in the front door as dusk fell wasn’t subtle but Aurelia wasn’t a subtle person. Having Jearl go ‘oh shit’ as her Dunmer friend went down a trap door wasn’t subtle either. Aurelia smashed the Redguard’s head against a hefty wooden post and then followed Saveri into the caverns. That too wasn’t much of a fight. Both women had _interesting_ paperwork.

            After briefing Burd, Aurelia was back at Cloud Ruler in time for a late dinner, handing the letters to Jauffre. “Mankar knows his business,” she told the Grandmaster. “Who notices a peasant?”

            “Indeed,” Jauffre agreed. “Are they dead?”

            “Of course. You don’t let trash like that live.”

            He sighed. “A shame we couldn’t have fed them false information. Still, I suppose it’s something.”

            “It won’t be spies who win this, it’ll be fists and faith,” Aurelia told him.

            In later years, she would wonder if she’d had a touch of prescience herself.


	7. News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. This story will probably seem truncated as I’m just doing the main quest. Aurelia and Martin are… fairly monofocused, for obvious reasons, and I’ve been farming out the city quests to NPCs.

 

“Major Oblivion Gates in each of the counties have been closed,” reported a wiry Cyrod whose lantern jaw rivalled Aurelia’s. “I’ve got one of the Mages’ Guild’s best Daedric scholars trying to calculate a mathematical pattern for predicting them. It’s possibly a long shot, but it’ll keep the Guild out of trouble since Hannibal’s death.”

            “Hannibal Traven is dead?” Jauffre remarked with a troubled glance.

            “Yes. Mannimarco corrupted some of the senior mages into a cult of necromancers. They got hammered down by some Breton wench named Regan Mac Lanna-“

            “Reach-bred,” Sidgara interrupted. “She’s a Reachwoman. The Bretons are precise about such distinctions.”

            “Well, the new Archmage is a Reachwoman, whatever that is,” the Cyrod finished. “I wasn’t able to meet with her; they’re still purging necromancers.”

            Martin pinched the bridge of his nose. “But the Oblivion Gates are closed?”

            “And all their sigil stones are now in the hands of the Blades loremasters,” Marius confirmed quietly. “How goes your translation of the Mysterium Xarxes?”

            “Slowly. But… well… I’ve already determined that part of the component to opening an Oblivion Gate to the Mythic Dawn’s ‘Paradise’ involves Daedric power drawn directly from one of the Princes.” Martin’s mouth tightened. He was looking drawn and exhausted. “In other words, a Daedric artefact.”

            “We have a couple of those,” Aurelia pointed out. She glanced at the Cyrod. “How’s the rest of Cyrodiil holding up?”

            “It’s holding up. Why can’t we just take the Emperor and light the damn Dragonfires already?”

            “That’s above your paygrade,” Jauffre began, only to be silenced by Martin holding up his hand.

            “It’s a fair question.” The last Septim sighed. “We need to purge this cult before I can be crowned. The barriers against Oblivion rest on my shoulders and until I sire an heir, they’re vulnerable.”

            “That’s another thing to consider,” Ralinde said grimly, having come back from the Imperial City for this meeting. “We need to find you someone of an appropriate rank. The bedding can anticipate the wedding but…”

            “One thing at a time,” Martin said flatly. “I’ve been translating the Mysterium Xarxes, Ralinde, and let me assure you that it’s a very good way to kill the mood. Even if you found an appropriate woman, I cannot say I could perform at the moment.”

            The Altmer woman inclined her head reluctantly. “I hadn’t considered that. But you must give some thought to it!”

            “In time.” Martin rose to his feet and hurriedly, everyone else did. “Dismissed.”

            The habit of obeying had them leaving the meeting room. Aurelia never did obey, so she stayed.

            “You look like shit,” she said bluntly.

            “It’s exhausting,” he admitted. “I must wrangle meaning from the text while not falling prey to the traps written within. The Mythic Dawn has wrought their work well.”

            “Is Akatosh helping any?”

            “Yes. His grace protects me from the insidious magic of the thing.” Martin chewed his bottom lip. “Have Marius post scouts throughout County Bruma and send messages to the other cities. They’ve tried assassination and subtlety. Mehrunes Dagon is impatient, and so he’ll try brute force next.”

            Aurelia nodded. “Understood.”

            He smiled weakly. “You have become the rock in all of this, Aurelia. I would have cracked a long time ago if not for you.”

            She flushed and looked away. “Don’t. I like to think we’re friends, but I can tell you now there’s no way it could be more. Sidgara’s a remote possibility but the Blades wouldn’t permit us to be together.”

            “I get the feeling Sidgara isn’t interested in men,” Martin said slowly. “As for the rest-“

            Someone cleared their throat at the door; it was Steffen. “Pardon me, Your Majesty. Marius wants to talk to you both.”

            Martin nodded. “Of course, Captain.”

            When the man had left, he glanced at Aurelia. “We will talk later, I promise.”

…

Marius was shirtless and practicing in the Temple’s dojo, wielding a length of light chain with lead weights at the ends, striking targets with the grace and speed of a serpent. Despite the weariness and weight of the Mysterium Xarxes on his shoulders, Martin allowed himself a moment of appreciation for the tawny mer’s lithe musculature. Jauffre’s son was young in the way of the mer and even as a half-human, could see three hundred to five hundred years of life.

            “I’m glad you both came,” he said, rolling the chain into a small ball and laying it on a rack. “How are you holding up?”

            “I’m holding up,” Martin said carefully. Marius seemed sympathetic but… Aurelia’s warning about the Blades was troubling. He knew she’d had a bad history with them; she didn’t deal well with hierarchy or obedience.

            “If you need to vent, feel free,” Marius said quietly. “Father may have taken over as Grandmaster for the nonce but I still have authority here.”

            “How’s Ralinde going with the Elder Council?” Aurelia asked.

            “Ocato cannot offer us help with Legion soldiers as Oblivion Gates are opening everywhere,” Marius reported with a sigh. “The counts are laden with their own concerns, but they promise detachments will be sent to assist Bruma if we should be attacked.”

            “It will happen sooner rather than later,” Martin told him. “The Blades have essentially stopped his invasion in Cyrodiil.”

            “And Skyrim. Though admittedly that is more the Shieldmaidens of Talos and the Companions of Jorrvaskr. I’ve been told that even the Greybeards have sent Tongues after entreaties from the Jarls.” Marius poured himself some water and drank it thirstily. “It was the Tongues who turned the tide. I had heard the Thu’um was mighty, but…”

            “Thu’um?” Martin asked, the word echoing through his thoughts.

            “The Voice. Dragons existed, my ancestors killed many and collected what knowledge they could, and the Nords somehow learned their magical language to use as a weapon.” Marius smiled thinly. “They believe Kynareth taught them.”

            “I’ve seen the Thu’um in action. Some disgraced Greybeard entered the Arena as part of Yellow Team. One of the few bouts I lost,” Aurelia admitted.

            “Yes. The High-Mother of the Shieldmaidens told me that a Tongue used something called Unrelenting Force to clear the path for her warriors to reach the sigil stones.” Marius pursed his lips. “I think I will put out the call to recruit one of these Tongues. If they grow dissatisfied with a life of contemplation but maintain their discipline, the Blades could use such a powerful weapon.”

            “You’ll have to talk fast. A renegade Tongue can command a king’s ransom as a mercenary in Skyrim,” Aurelia warned.

            “Then maybe I will approach the Greybeards directly. Talos is a Shezzarine, an aspect of their Shor…” Marius shrugged. “But we must weather this crisis first.”

            At the moment, Martin wasn’t sure if he could weather this crisis himself. But he said nothing. The world depended on him.


	8. The Rock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Yuletide chapter for my readers! Trigger warning for death, violence and mentions of ritual sacrifice.

 

“We need the blood of a Divine.”

            Martin’s statement, delivered over a breakfast of toasted rice bread, porridge and cold meat, silenced everyone at the table. Even Sidgara looked a little dumbfounded.

            “Shame old Jauffre didn’t knock a chip off the Amulet of Kings before the Mythic Dawn nicked it,” Aurelia finally said.

            “Only one of the Dragonborn Emperors can mar the Amulet,” Martin automatically replied. “Do not be worried. I know where we can get some.”

            “Sancre Tor,” Jauffre said slowly.

            “Sancre Tor,” confirmed Martin. “We need the Armour of Talos Stormcrown.”

            “Sadly, that’s the nearest source,” Sidgara agreed. “The Shieldmaidens have relics, but they’re in northern Skyrim, and even with a horse relay I couldn’t get there in less than a half-moon.”

            “Exactly. Time is running out.” Martin took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I want Aurelia to go as my Champion, Marius for the Blades and Sidgara for the Shieldmaidens. If that doesn’t please Talos, I don’t know what will.”

            Jauffre’s mouth tightened but he nodded. “As you wish, your Imperial Majesty.”

            And that was how Aurelia found herself trudging through the icy arse-end of Cyrodiil with Marius and Sidgara. Of the three, only Sidgara looked like she was having fun, and that was because she was a Skyrim-bred Nord and they were probably dropped from the womb into a bed of snow.

            “Talos was laid to rest in the old Nord style,” she explained as they walked along. “Fifty hearth-warriors volunteered to accompany Him to Sovngarde as His entourage and four Blades vowed to guard His tomb forevermore.”

            “I’d heard of Nordic rituals of human sacrifice at burials,” Marius observed. “Is it still done today?”

            “It… depends. Most Jarls are buried with their huscarl unless said huscarl is released or ordered to complete some kind of task. The Shieldmaidens are preserved as guards of Yngvild. But it is only the powerful and important who receive such an honour.”

            “Some Altmer will bind the souls of their enemies to guard their tombs,” Aurelia pointed out. “The Dunmer weave bits of their dead ancestors into the Ghostfence. I’m not sure we can throw rocks at the Skyrim-bred Nords.”

            “I was simply curious, Aurelia. Each Emperor is buried with a Blade to guard them, but the position is strictly voluntary and reserved for the greatest of our number.” He smiled thinly. “We probably got that from the Nords. The Akaviri spent many centuries in Skyrim during the Reman Dynasty.”

            They found and entered Sancre Tor. There were skeletons that drained energy from them. There were four cursed Blades. Something about the Underking. Four destroyed skeletons later, the Blades were free to go to Heaven’s Reach Temple and they had the Armour of Talos.

            “This is only the one he wore in Cyrodiil,” Sidgara said as they left. “He wore a chainmail shirt of stalhrim links in Skyrim.”

            “Nothing but the best for the old boy, huh?” Aurelia asked. The gilded armour was very heavy and because she was the strongest, she got assigned to carrying it.

            When they returned, Martin had more delightful news from the Mysterium. “I need a Great Welkynd Stone from some Ayleid ruins,” he said. “Then we need to let three or four gates open up into a big one in front of Bruma and enter it so we get a Great Sigil Stone.”

            “This is fucking ridiculous!” Aurelia burst out, dumping the armour on his bed.

            “Yes, it is,” Martin said, rubbing a hand across his face. “I know I’m asking a lot. But accessing a private plane of Oblivion isn’t easy.”

            “Yeah, no shit. Why can’t we just steal the Skeleton Key or something? That can open anything, right?”

            “Because Nocturnal would not permit you to test her power against Mehrunes Dagon’s,” Martin said wearily.

            “I’m just bitching. Is there anyone I can at least dump the run into an Ayleid ruin on? I suspect you want me to break into the big-ass Oblivion Gate and probably Paradise too.”

            Martin blinked. “Yes. You are resilient and resistant to Mehrunes Dagon’s magic.”

            “I’ll do the Ayleid ruins,” Sidgara offered. “I wonder if they’re related to our Falmer ruins…”

            “Thanks.” The two women clasped hands and the Shieldmaiden left. Marius bowed slightly and went to report to his father.

            “How are you coping?” Martin asked carefully.

            “I’m coping. You?”

            His smile was weak. “I’m hanging on. I wish I could do this myself, Aurelia. I’m asking too much of you and because of your great heart, you keep on giving.”

            “Don’t make me better than I am. I kind of like the world and I don’t want it to end.”

            His blue eyes saw too much and Aurelia glanced away. Why couldn’t he have been a bit of an arse? Not enough to make her hate him, just enough so that she didn’t find him attractive?

            “It may come as a surprise to you, but you are the rock on which my life stands,” Martin said softly. “Without you, I could not do this.”

            And then he rose to his feet, reached out to her and kissed her.


	9. Great Gate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for fantastic racism, death and violence. Playing around slightly with the Defence of Bruma and Three Gates quests for story purposes. Short chapter, sorry.

 

“We’re ready, your Majesty.”

            Martin took a deep breath and looked around. Sidgara, Marius, Jauffre, Steffen and several other Blades surrounded him. The troops that could be spared had come from all over Cyrodiil. Aurelia, bouncing on the balls of her feet and clenching her fists repeatedly, was leading from the front.

            “You are certain?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he was quite ready.

            “As certain as I’ll ever be,” Marius said firmly.

            Martin took a deep breath and **_spoke._**

He was still trying to understand what it meant to be Dragonborn. The records were fragmentary and contradictory, but from the looks of it, the Nords had a better understanding of the Dovahkiin than the Cyrods. One of Sidgara’s sisters in the Shieldmaidens had brought a dictionary of Dovahzul, the ancient language of the Tongues, and from it he managed to parse a Shout to achieve what he wanted.

            Once. Twice. Thrice. “Bex Dagon Miiraad.” _Open Dagon Portal._

Each time, a new gash in the world-time-space opened, spewing forth lesser Daedra. Now well versed in the art of Dremora-killing, each was repulsed. Then, with a final use of the Shout, Martin merged all three into one Great Gate and Aurelia darted in before it had barely opened.

            Marius squeezed his shoulder. “She will prevail.”

            Precious minutes dragged by, becoming half an hour, then an hour. Martin was forced to confront the possibility that he’d sent the woman he loved to her doom. Why hadn’t he dispatched Sidgara or Marius? Both were competent.

            Then, covered in black and red blood, Aurelia emerged with a great sigil stone. It pulsed evilly in her hands as the gate collapsed behind her.

            “Got it,” she grated. “Dagon doesn’t like you, Martin.”

            “Feeling is entirely mutual,” he said grimly, wrapping an arm around her. “We better return to Cloud Ruler Temple. Time is running short, even for the Dragon God.”

            But first he dismissed the soldiers of Cyrodiil with grateful words and thanks for their liege lords. Marius and Countess Carvain oversaw the clean-up. Jauffre led the Blades back to Cloud Ruler Temple, giving Aurelia and Martin a significant glance. So, the Grand Master wanted to talk.

            In his spare office, the Breton wasted no words. “What are you two thinking?” he demanded. “Of all the damned fool things-“

            “If it wasn’t for Aurelia, I wouldn’t be here,” Martin interrupted, holding Jauffre’s gaze. “I get it, you don’t like her for any number of reasons. But Aurelia is _my_ choice, both as Champion and consort.”

            Jauffre took a deep breath, muttered a prayer to Talos, and released it. “She’s more competent than we realised. But between the Imperial Simulacrum, your father’s neglect of the provinces and this Oblivion Crisis, the Empire has become unstable. You will need to make a marriage alliance, possibly to an Altmer or a Dunmer, to preserve it. Aurelia, for all her virtues, is the worst choice to be Empress.”

            “I didn’t say she would be Empress,” Martin replied. _Though she will._ “How many times have we treated the Nords and Orcs as disposable muscle? Their support is as important as Dunmer, Breton or any other people of the Empire.”

            “The Nords can barely rule themselves most days and the Orcs are dependant on the Empire for their homeland to exist,” Jauffre pointed out.

            “I’m sure Sidgara and my father would _love_ to hear that,” Aurelia said bluntly. “In fact, I’ll go let them know now.”

            “Are you insane?” Jauffre demanded.

            “Probably. But I thought the Blades were supposed to serve the Emperor, not tell him what to do.” Aurelia folded her muscular arms. “I’ll cut you a deal. I don’t call myself Empress and you shut your mouth about it. In return, I don’t tell the Orcs and Nords what you think of them.”

            “You’re blackmailing me,” Jauffre said bluntly.

            “Of course I am. You don’t think politics doesn’t exist in the Arena? I may not play the game like you do, but believe me, I know how to play it.”

            Jauffre spluttered as Martin regarded him serenely. “I’ll keep your political concerns under advisement,” he said softly. “But do not presume you may decide my life for me, Grand Master.”

            He turned around and walked out, Aurelia by his side. They would need to rest and prepare for the next stage in retrieving the Amulet of Kings.


	10. Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and implied sexual intercourse.

 

“I wish I could be the one to do this,” Martin told Aurelia as he set up the portal for the Mythic Dawn’s little plane of Oblivion. “I ask so much of you.”

            “And you’ve given me so much in return,” she said, kissing him on the forehead. “So open the gate and when I have the Amulet of Kings, we can celebrate.”

            His smile was promising. “I remember much from my time in the cult of Sanguine. I think I will surprise you, my Champion.”

            “You better,” she said with a grin, “Because I think this won’t be much fun.”

            When the light from the portal cleared, she was standing in the middle of a lush garden. Well, the Mythic Dawn called it Paradise. Kind of tedious, honestly, compared to the red violence of the Deadlands.

            She was heading deeper into the garden when a Dremora in full Daedric plate stepped in her way. “Nice place,” she drawled, cracking her knuckles. “Bit more boring than the Deadlands, but I’m sure I can find some entertainment here.”

            Much to her surprise, the Dremora nodded in something resembling respect. “The Red Rager,” he greeted. “You have killed dozens of the lesser brethren, several of the greater, and even one or two among the greatest.”

            “They were in my way,” Aurelia told him. “Something you happen to be at the moment.”

            He smiled and it was hideous. “Perhaps a bargain, Red Rager? I am Kathutet and the Ascended Mortals have trapped one of my chief subordinates. Now, in normal times, I would let him endure the punishment of failure… but these are not normal times and I cannot abide the insult to my dignity. Free Anaxes from the cave and you will receive a way through this garden to the next part.”

            “Normally, I’d punch you in the face and take it, but I’m saving my fists for Camoran’s ugly face. Where is this idiot minion of yours?”

            He was in a cave, trapped by logs and stones. “Look, that thing was torturing us!” one of the cultists protested. “Leave him there.”

            “Wages of sin,” Aurelia said, punching her way through the tangle and hauling on a couple key logs. The rest fell away and the Dremora burst out. Aurelia didn’t hang around to watch the show. She had a job to do.

            Kathutet bowed as she returned. “Thank you, Red Rager. These will let you enter the Palace.”

            ‘These’ were bands that, when she got into the Palace, wouldn’t let her remove them. She pressed forward with a curse, passing from one grotto to the next, where she met an Altmer in the Cult’s red and black robes. “You can’t remove those, can you?” he asked shrewdly.

            “No,” Aurelia growled.

            “I can remove them… if you can help me get to the Palace.” He smiled bitterly. “I opened the gate to Kvatch, you see, and died. This… was not what I was expecting.”

            “I should kill you,” Aurelia said flatly. “But in a roundabout way, you did me a favour. So yes, I will help you get out of this place and then you better scat.”

            “Thank you.” He gave her a map. “Enter the cage, thread the maze and kill all the Dremora.”

            After several Oblivion Gates, the maze and the Dremora inside were easy. Aurelia emerged, covered in blood, and the mer did his end of the deal. Surprisingly, he followed her to the Palace where two of Camoran’s children waited. “Our father is expecting you, Red Rager,” greeted the woman.

            “Good. It’s not much fun if your opponent’s taken by surprise.”

            Mankar was an Altmer, though there were some Bosmer elements to his features. He smiled as she, his spawn and the renegade cultist marched towards him. “Aurelia Northstar. Champion of the Arena. Hero of Kvatch. Your reputation precedes you.”

            Aurelia crackled her knuckles. “Good. So why don’t you hand over the Amulet and save yourself the humiliation of it being taken anyway?”

            “I have waited a long time for you, Champion of Old Tamriel. You are the last gasp of a dying age. You breathe the stale air of false hope. How little you understand! You cannot stop Lord Dagon. The walls between our worlds are crumbling. The Mythic Dawn grows nearer with every rift in the firmament. Soon, very soon, the lines now blurred will be erased. Tamriel and Oblivion rejoined! The Mythic Age reborn! Lord Dagon shall walk Tamriel again. The world shall be remade. The new age shall rise from the ashes of the old. My vision shall be realized. Weakness will be purged from the world, and mortal and immortal alike purified in the refiner's fire. My long duel with the Septims is over, and I have the mastery. The Emperor is dead. The Amulet of Kings is mine. And the last defender of the last ragged Septim stands before me, in the heart of my power. Let us see who at last has proved the stronger!”

            Mankar had no sense of timing. By the time he was halfway through his ridiculous speech, she’d already reached out, spun each of his children around, and punched them in the throats so that they died choking on their own blood. By the end of it, she was within reaching distance. He retaliated with magic… and her world dissolved into red.

            When it was done, the room and herself was red, the Amulet of Kings glowing in her hand. The palace was crumbling around her and just before the roof fell to crush her, light took her.

…

“At dawn, we ride for the Imperial City,” Martin told Aurelia as they lay in bed together. Around them, Cloud Ruler Temple bustled with preparations for the trip. “I will make my claim to Chancellor Ocato, be approved, and then light the Dragonfires. It will be over.”

            She stretched and the bed creaked in protest. Martin had to heal so many wounds that her olive-bronze skin was pocked and scratched with silver scarring. Aurelia had never been a lovely woman but now, she was rather less so. Yet Martin could not find any other woman more beautiful than she.

            “We’ll have a different battle on our hands,” she finally said. “Jauffre said there was trouble in the other provinces. You’ll need to be diplomatic… or send in the Legions. Either way, it will be messy.”

            “Yes. But I’ll have the Nords and hopefully the Orcs.” He smiled slightly. “The Empress will be one of their own, after all.”

            Much to his surprise, the mighty Aurelia burst into tears. Comforting and reassuring turned to another sort of activity and in that night, Martin truly knew he had won. All would be well. They would see.


	11. The End of All Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and grief. Welp, folks, this is the end of this story and the prequel to all Aurelii stories. Thanks for sticking with me.

 

“My lord, we are pleased to hand the Ruby Throne to you,” Ocato began. “It shall take a day or so to prepare the basic ceremonies, but given the urgency of the situation, I don’t think the High Prelates will mind-“

            Marius slammed open the doors to the Elder Council chamber, fighting chain dripping with blood and a wicked cut on his golden face. “We need you at the Temple of the One _now_ ,” he told Martin tersely. “The remains of the cult have just breached the inner city with Dremora.”

            “Don’t stand there like idiots!” Ocato snapped at the Imperial guard. “Form phalanx around the Emperor and get him to the Temple!”

            The fighting was hard and bloody. Dozens if not hundreds were dead as Dremora and Mythic Dawn cultists raged through the streets, clashing against the Blades and Imperial Guards. Aurelia paused in the middle of beating a Clannfear to death just to watch the terrible dance of Marius, his fighting chain whirling in a red-streaked silver circle, as he cleared the path ahead of them. There were few fighters better than him in the Blades and probably none outside them.

            Then she threw the Clannfear into a Dremora’s face and followed it up with an uppercut to a red-black chin.

            It was bad enough before they reached the location of the Temple. Even Marius and Jauffre quailed at what awaited them there.

            A giant four-armed figure of blood-red, horned head scraping the sky and feet sinking into the stone, stood between them and the Temple.

            Aurelia looked over her shoulder at Martin. Of all the people here, he was the calmest, almost serene. The Emperor took a deep breath, clutched the Amulet of Kings, and released it once more.

            “Aurelia, Marius, Sidgara,” he said. “Clear my way. I must get into the Temple of the One.”

            “By your order,” Marius said with a salute. He dropped his fighting chain and drew his dai-katana as Sidgara drew her greatsword. Aurelia pulled on her brass knuckles. This would be the fight of their lives.

            It was Sidgara who attacked first. She took a deep breath and _screamed_ , the force of the shout scattering the knot of Dremora and lesser Daedra around Mehrunes Dagon’s feet. Then she was among them, hacking and slashing as Nords did, calling on Talos in her raven-harsh voice.

            Marius engaged the Dremora in heavy Daedric armour, his dai-katana a silver sliver of death that left red-black limbs in its wake. He was soon lost among them but the thinning of the ranks proved he still lived.

            Aurelia inhaled deeply and worked herself into a battle frenzy. This was the fight to end all fights. Mehrunes Dagon had come to fuck up Tamriel in person. He was about to discover what that really meant.

            She drew on all her power, magicka sheathing her skin and swelling her muscles and hardening her sinew until she felt she could burst. One of the Arena trainers told her she instinctively used Alteration to achieve this state of nigh-invulnerability, in which she had broken a mammoth’s skull and torn enemies apart.

            This was the state in which she’d killed Agronak. She would pay for it. Maybe even die for it in the end.

            But Martin had to get through.

            She charged, roaring with bloodlust, and scattered lesser Daedra in her wake. A glorious madness took her, the gift of her Orcish blood. She aimed for the biggest target, diving into the air just before it, feet together as she drove all the force and power in her body into one blow.

            She hit. She struck.

            And the great Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon, lord of destruction and change and revolution, flinched.

            He flinched. From a kick to his right big toe.

            Aurelia ran under his foot as it lifted, pushing a knot of Daedra back through main force. Martin was a swift shadow in her wake, darting for the door to the Temple of the One. She held off the Daedra until he opened it and then retreated, leaving them for Sidgara and Marius to deal with.

            Inside, the Temple of the One was spare but for the ornate Sublime Brazier, where Martin would call fire with the Amulet of Kings and kindle the Dragonfires once more. He knelt before it, Amulet in hand, and murmured prayers to Akatosh while outside people died to buy him time.

            Then he rose, turned to her, and the expression of grief and fear and rage was enough to freeze her blood.

            “What was isn’t enough now,” he said brokenly. “Aurelia, my love, this requires direct intervention by the Aedra. I’m sorry. I love you. Our descendants will be heroes who put us in the shade.”

            Before she could find the words, he smashed the Amulet on the Sublime Brazier and the world turned into bright golden light.

…

“Congratulations, it’s a boy.”

            The Orcish wisewoman bit the babe’s umbilical cord and handed the boy to his mother while she waited for the afterbirth. The woman was half-blood with a Nord mother and the child had even less of the blood than that, but Agol was chief of the stronghold and this was his firstborn daughter. In her time of need, they welcomed her.

            Aurelia suckled the infant instinctively. Since the death of her chief, she’d been in a half-daze, only the child in her belly keeping her around. The wisewoman paused for a moment, nodded to Agol’s son’s daughter to keep watch, and retreated to the chief’s longhouse to deliver the good news.

            “I’ll tell you this once,” the Chief was yelling at the Blades who’d arrived a few hours ago, “You aren’t taking my daughter or her child.”

            “That child is the last of the Septims,” retorted the goldskin wench in her fine silk robes. “What upbringing could you give that’s appropriate?”

            “Agol, it’s a boy,” the wisewoman said. “Sounds healthy. Bit of a runt, but I suppose that happens when the father’s a Cyrod.”

            “That’s a relief. Ocato’s got his hands full with the Elder Council and a live Septim heir will stabilise things,” the womer said.

            “My grandson isn’t your tool,” Agol snarled. “Now go. You’ve cost me enough, Ralinde. Go or I will flay the flesh from your bones.”

            “A compromise?” suggested the Nord woman in fancy armour. Sidgara, her name was. Respected by the Orcs of Broken Tusk Keep. “He stays with you for the first ten years, then you foster him with the Blades. There are worse tenets than those of the Orcs… and you’re better than those bastard Cyrod nobles anyway.”

            Agol met the wisewoman’s eyes and she nodded. Since leaving Bruma, their life here was perilous and tenuous. The Blades could wipe them out and still take the child.

            “Fine,” the chief said heavily. “But I meant what I said, Ralinde. If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”

            “Trust me,” Ralinde said acidly, “I never wish to return.”

            With that, she and her escort left, only Sidgara and an Altmer male in Blades armour remaining. “A word, Chief Agol?” he asked. “My mother… well, she doesn’t know everything.”

            “I’ll hear you out,” Agol said begrudgingly. “You’ve never treated us poorly, Marius.”

            The Altmer drew an ivory-sheathed Akaviri blade from his satchel. “This is a Sword of the Septims,” he explained. “Only the young boy will be able to draw it. The Akaviri blood-seals are quite potent.”

            “I’ve heard,” Agol said.

            “I fear that the lad may not be able to take the Ruby Throne,” Marius continued. “At least not until he’s well into adulthood. The politics are unstable and for the moment, it’s easier to let it be considered the Septims are dead.”

            “Wait, they don’t know?” the wisewoman asked in surprise.

            “Ralinde and Ocato do, but the rest of the Elder Council don’t. We’ve already got unrest in the Summerset Isles, Blackmarsh and Morrowind,” Marius said grimly. “The Elder Council’s already pissing on Orsinium and Skyrim. If they have the raising of the young lad, they’ll just make him one of them.”

            “What we’re asking is that you get him for five years and then he comes to Skyrim for five,” Sidgara said. “A child learns their truest lessons before they’re ten and even if the Cyrods manage to get him, he’ll be a true son of both our bloods.”

            Agol was already nodding. “You, I like. I could use a third wife, you know.”

            “I’m a Shieldmaiden. Technically, I’m married to Talos,” Sidgara said wryly. “I’m flattered, though.”

            Marius managed a chuckle. “Could you imagine being Aurelia’s stepmother?”

            “I was trying not to mention that,” Sidgara grinned. Then she sighed. “How is she?”

            “Alive,” the wisewoman told her. Aurelia had been friends with these two. “She lost her chief and love. That damages an Orc woman in ways I can’t describe to an outsider.”

            “May we see her?” Marius asked, handing the Sword of the Septims over to Agol’s son.

            “Yes.”

            Aurelia was more aware and the babe was suckling strongly. “Are you here to take him?” she asked hoarsely.

            “No. We’ve managed to work something out that will keep the Cyrods away for a good ten years,” Sidgara assured her. “Five with you, five with my family just over the border.”

            “Thank you,” Aurelia said simply. “Take care of him when he’s yours.”

            “We will,” Marius promised.

            The wisewoman said nothing, for she had read the entrails and they promised only trouble. But fates could be turned and maybe this one’s sorrows – and those of his descendants – could be altered.

            But she looked in Aurelia’s eyes, saw the febrile light there, and knew that Sheogorath had a hand in the game.

            May Malacath give them the strength to endure the coming storm.


End file.
